


Everything I Can't Have

by knightship



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Future Fic, Gen, mentions of oc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-03
Updated: 2013-04-03
Packaged: 2017-12-07 09:38:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/747036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knightship/pseuds/knightship
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin has distanced himself from Arthur, held him at a distance for thirty years. That was all fine before, but Arthur's daughter is going to need a magic teacher someday.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Everything I Can't Have

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this back in 2011, and yet it somehow still works with the ending of the series. I also apologize for any mistakes or confusion, but I'm not going to edit this today. Originally posted [here](http://exterra-astris.livejournal.com/18843.html) on my livejournal.

Having tea with Merlin is like visiting a ghost. Every time, Arthur is welcomed into the house stacked with books and brimming with plants, the air alive with magic and unexplainable light. Merlin has an actual set of china, which always surprises him (his penchant for breaking things is amazing, to say the least), and they sit down at the small, chipped-paint table by the window. Merlin always crosses his legs, fingers wrapped around the delicate cup in his hand, and stares out the window as he asks,

"And how are the children?"

Arthur always takes his time after this question. He looks at Merlin's face, in profile. He looks regal and ethereal, even in a semi-crumpled jumper and with chapped lips. The light that plays off of his cheekbones and the way his hair is still messy and dark and curls just behind his ear is sort of mesmerizing.

It's been thirty years since they met, and Merlin still looks like he's sixteen. Only the dark, wise depths of his eyes tell otherwise. Arthur is starting to grey at the temples and he has crow's feet, and he has two children and a wife.

"Brandon is doing well. He excels in all his classes, but he's struggling a bit with his swordwork. Ingrid, though...she reminds me of you."

Merlin smiles faintly, still looking out the window, but his fingers tighten on his cup.

"The other day we found her on top of the Western Tower. The Western Tower, can you believe it? That must be sixty feet from the ground. We have no idea how she got up there. And when we asked, she just said, 'There was a bird on the roof, and I wanted to touch it, so I did.' It's incredible, Merlin."

Merlin says nothing, just sips his tea and looks pained in the way that only Arthur can see, deep in the crease of his mouth and the tendon that stands out in his neck.

"I have a picture." Merlin jerks, surprised. Arthur has never brought pictures before, but he unfolds a bit of glossy paper from his jacket pocket and hands it over. Merlin's hand shakes as he takes it, eyes soft and fingers softer as they trace a pale little girl's face, her smile cheeky and her hair dark and wild.

"She has your laugh. And your hands," Merlin murmurs, and Arthur smiles, because Merlin is intrinsically magic and can just see these things in a photograph..

"Your smile, though. Your eyes. And I think, your magic." Merlin shuts his eyes, carefully setting the photo down on the table top.

"She wasn't supposed to. She was supposed to stutter like Gwen and be kind and witty-"

"Which she is. She's just got your wit, and your kindness, and your bravery. Along with a complete lack of manners, an inability to lie, that gawky, clumsy walk of yours, she asks much too many senseless questions, she's forever sticking her nose into other people's business...she's got all of it, Merlin."

Merlin turns back to the window, raising a hand to cover his eyes and sigh.

"I suppose she's also pig-headed, has a horrid temper, and swears like a sailor. Which she will of course have gotten from you," Merlin deadpans from under his hand, and Arthur snorts.

It's silent for a long moment, and Arthur sets his teacup down.

"I know you think you ruined her. But Ingrid is the light of my life, Merlin. I love her just as much as I love Brandon, and so does Gwen. Magic has not made her any less of the daughter I wanted or the princess she is."

Merlin still sits defeated, so Arthur leans across the table and seizes his slack hand.

"When you cast that spell to save her life, I thought you'd end up taking Gwen's. But you didn't. Gwen can no longer bear children, true. But by making her yours, you gave us Ingrid. And...well. Brandon has confessed that he has no interest in ever claiming my throne." Merlin sits up rigid, eyes wide with anger.

"No, no daughter of mine will ever be queen! The thought of it, I'd rather-" Merlin hisses, and then sits back, looking shocked at himself. Arthur smirks, squeezing his hand. 

"See? Was it so hard to admit that you care for her?" Merlin pulls his hand back, eyes narrowed.

"You did that on purpose. I bet Brandon's so excited about being king he's choking on it." Arthur smirks- Brandon has been dying to sit in Arthur's throne since he learned what the word "king" meant.

"Now, I came here because I think you should come visit. I know Gwen would love it." Merlin frowns, turning his cup idly in it's saucer.

"People are bound to notice the resemblance between us," Merlin mutters, thumbing the photograph in front of him. Arthur raises an eyebrow. 

"Are you or are you not the greatest sorcerer to ever live? Can't you just disguise yourself when others are around?" Merlin nods thoughtfully, and then a squeamish look comes over his face, and he bites his lip, glancing at Arthur worriedly.

"I- I've never spoken to her. I mean, I know all about her, from what you've told me, but I expect she knows nothing of me-"

"We've told her all about you, Merlin," Arthur says softly, and Merlin looks taken aback and very vulnerable in that one instance of surprise. 

"Well, I still- what do I say to her? 'Hi, I kind of accidentally made you my daughter in trying to save your life, let's you and I go have ice cream, why don't we?'" Merlin gets this crazed, desperately confused look on his face, and Arthur says without so much as a snicker,

"Ingrid is lactose intolerant." 

Merlin glares at him and huffs, crossing his arms and slumping like the very mature forty-six year old (or is it a thousand, he can never keep track) he is.

"You are no help. I swear, you do these things on purpose." Arthur smiles and stands, fixing his jacket.

"Of course I do it on purpose. So you'll come visit?" Merlin sighs, long-suffering, but nods. Arthur grins and leans down to kiss him on the cheek. A perfectly platonic kiss, of course.

"Good. Because I've already booked you a ticket." And Arthur pulls an airline ticket out of his pocket, slaps it into Merlin's hand, and takes off before Merlin can do more than make the candles around the room spark to life.


End file.
